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Jack didn’t go in much for praying anymore. No point, not when nobody upstairs seemed to give a shit either way. Praying was for altar boys and little kids and people who wanted their football team to win the Superbowl; for parents in his ER who refused medical care for their dying children in favor of speaking in tongues and yelling up the ladder to something that didn’t answer. Not for him. He believed in only a few things, and none of those were anything big enough to pray to. Well, almost none. There’d been one thing. A person, really. Bigger than a person, though. More like a grand, orchestral concept, a hope half-divine, fifty-two percent of the reason he kept showing up to work for four years straight. _________________ Jack Abbot is seriously injured while responding to a mass shooting. Samira Mohan, who has left the Pitt, happens to be his ER doctor at Westbridge. A reunion and a conversation, both long overdue, follow.

Fics like something else

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